Etude
by nonotthatone
Summary: Clex, one-shot. At moments like this, as Lex played and Clark listened, the give and take of their strange friendship seemed to expand and suggest that it could contain such things.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

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Etude

The study was, as always it seemed, alive with the inconsistent light of the fire. The dancing of shadow and flame suited Lex's mood well tonight. His hands flew over the piano keys like pale spiders, frantic and instinctive; he played stormily to match his churning soul.

There was a half-empty double-old-fashioned resting on the piano, but Clark's hands were empty in his seat by the fire. Lex could only see his profile from this angle, and perhaps it was just the light, but he seemed to be listening very carefully. As if Lex's anguished music was speaking to him. As if he could hear the words that Lex would not say.

Lex reached the end of the piece for the third time but did not even come up for air; it was a lesson, and could be repeated endlessly until technical perfection was attained. And so he hammered on, willing his fingers to shrug off their clumsiness. To perform the music exactly as written, exactly as expected, exactly as intended.

To stop yearning for Clark's skin.

He realized that this was cowardice, to be always practicing pieces written by others; he wished for the hundredth, the thousandth time that he could create his own score. Composition, though, required a bravery that Lex was not sure he possessed. He suspected that if he were to take pen to paper it would not be music he would write, but words of longing and despair too keen to be spoken aloud.

If he could only touch Clark – play upon his body the way he did upon these keys – Lex felt sure that he could know some measure of peace.

At moments like this, as he played and Clark listened, the give and take of their strange friendship seemed to expand and suggest that it could contain such things. Sometimes in the deliciously tense pause between movements he would catch an expression in Clark's face that made him believe he might not pull away from a provocative touch. But this love, this hunger was not the only emotion he inspired in Lex.

Lex was easy arrogance, offhand bravado. But he was also, he admitted as approached the repeat once again, afraid.

He'd lost himself in his thoughts and in the complicated phrases; he hadn't even noticed Clark moving closer. He hovered over Lex's right shoulder now, radiating beauty and serenity like some Botticelli angel.

"You've been playing this one a long time now," he said. "Do you need me to turn the page?"

Lex's fingers slowed, letting the frenzied notes resolve into a lingering chord. He looked deeply into Clark's boundless eyes and felt resolve melt into their cerulean sea. He answered, not the question that Clark asked, but the one he himself feared to speak.

"Yes."

A piano bench is not really made for two, but somehow Clark found a corner. He reached up lightly and flipped the pages of the score. He returned his hand to his lap and sat raptly, waiting.

"How does this one go?" he asked.

Lex glanced over the music, set his mouth in that trademark half-smirk. "More complicated phrases in a minor key. I'm not sure you'd enjoy it any more."

"Try me," Clark answered. "I love hearing you play."

Lex took his thrill at the word 'love' and channeled it into the first few tremulous notes; but the warmth and nearness of Clark's body made it difficult to concentrate on his technique. He paused, and Clark angled his chin towards him, causing shadows to fall over his face in the most fetching manner.

"What's wrong?"

Unintentionally, Lex lowered his eyelids and smiled softly – an embarrassed reaction, one very unlike him. So much of this was so unlike him. "You're distracting me," he whispered.

For the span of a few heartbeats Clark was still; but then he lifted his hand again and, this time, placed it with dizzying entitlement on Lex's thigh.

"Am I?" he answered, his expression inscrutable.

Lex watched Clark's fingers move lightly, his shock rendering him momentarily dispassionate. Then, slowly, he took his hands away from the keys.

"If I didn't know any better," he said, all reasons for hesitation swept away in light of newer information, "I'd think you were doing it on purpose." He covered Clark's hand with his left and with the right reached to caress Clark's chiseled jaw. He marveled to find it warm and yielding.

Clark's eyes half-closed at the contact; Lex drew in his breath sharply. He would like to see Clark do that again, though perhaps under slightly different circumstances.

"But you know better," he bantered back.

"Obviously."

Clark tipped his chin again, causing Lex's fingers to drift towards his mouth and catching them with his lips. "The thing is, Lex," he said as shivers ran over Lex's skin, "I don't know better."

The last of Lex's restraint disappeared; he closed the distance swiftly. "Far be it from me to teach you, then."

The kiss ended in laughter when someone's elbow crashed against the keys.

"That's probably the least refined sound this piano's ever made." Lex grinned and pulled Clark to his feet, thinking to make themselves more comfortable on the sofa in front of the fire.

"Oh, I bet we could do better than that," Clark replied with dancing eyes. A moment later the study rang with more cacophonous noise as he pressed Lex back against the instrument.

Normally Lex would never permit his piano to be so abused. He would, he decided, make Clark pay for it later.

Much later.


End file.
